Picking up the Pieces
by ElineS
Summary: Post 2x02 She had no choice but to work with the team, her freedom stripped away from her otherwise. She was once again a pawn, a confused and hurt pawn. She couldn't trust anyone anymore, not even herself. It was breaking her up. How could she pick up and mend the pieces if she was the only one there to carry them and to put them back together. They were to heavy for her alone...
1. Prologue

She couldn't breath. She felt a pressure on her chest, as if something large was sitting on it, getting heavier by the second. Her lungs were screaming for air. What if she gave up now? Just let it all go. There was nothing for her in this world. She was alone. She had played her part and had played it badly. She lost and now she was done. She didn't believe in god, but she didn't want to die alone and imagined Him being there with her. Please have mercy on my soul and forgive me. It was a small comfort for what she was about to do. She closed her eyes and took a breath. There was no sweet release of air filling her lungs. Instead water flowed in fast. She opened her eyes wide in shock. It hurt. Her lungs were burning. She wanted to cough it out, but with every painful cough more water flowed in. Her body was not agreeing with her dying, it's survival instincts kicked in and she started to struggle against the hand on the back of her neck. Her ears were ringing and her eyesight was getting fuzzy. She heard people talking, no, shouting, but it was far away. She couldn't make out the words. Suddenly time slowed down. The pain went away. White and black dots were swimming before her eyes and then it turned black. She had closed her eyes without wanting to do so, but couldn't open them anymore. This was it. She was ready. Her heart had beaten so fast before, adrenaline shooting through her veins. But now it had gotten slower, preparing for its last beat.

 _Kurt_

Her eyes opened wide in shock. She breathed in and to her surprise her lungs, deprived from air soaked the air in. It hurt though. The pain that had gone came back in full intensity. She turned from lying on her back to her side – since when was she lying on the ground? - and was coughing water out. Every cough a painful hacking in her lungs. She wanted to stop, but couldn't. The water needed to come out. Her two tortures let her be till she was done coughing, then picked her up by the cuff of her shirt. She felt a sting in her arm and saw that he man had pulled out an IV of her arm which they had used to revive her.

"We won't let go of you that easily," he said through his teeth, clearly angry, spitting in her face with every word. "Don't pull a stunt like that again." He let her go and she fell to the ground, not having the strength yet to stand on her own. The other man shook his head disapprovingly, but didn't say anything. He picked her up by her shoulders and supported her to her cell, where he threw her in roughly. She fell to the ground and instantly curled up in a ball, cold and shaking. She winched when she heard the door close and the clink of a key turning. The sound of captivity. She closed her eyes and tried to control her rapid breathing. She had almost succeeded, she thought. She had felt the grip of death. She could have gone there. She could have surrendered. But something had stopped her. Kurt Weller... She shivered, unsure why his name had crossed her mind in her dying moments. He had betrayed her. He had given her to be tortured here, without a fight.

 _But you betrayed him first._ The thought felt like a punch to her stomach. Once again leaving her breathless.  
 _  
To keep him save!_ She tried to defend herself to her thoughts. _To keep him save..._

But she knew she was lying to herself. She knew she had been in the wrong. She should have trusted Kurt. Or at least, when Mayfair was arrested, she should have spoken out. But she had been scared and Oscar he... He was her finance. Even without her memories she still felt that she had loved him once. Yes, loved him, she thought. She was not the same person she was before. She hadn't loved Oscar as Jane, but she had loved the idea of him and the idea of bringing down corruption so much that she had followed him. Her ego and her intrigue in who he was and who she was, had kept her quiet.

She signed. It would have been easier if she had let herself die today, but _s_ he was happy now that she hadn't. The experience had formed an idea in her head. She smiled. For the first time in three months she smiled. She could escape this hellhole.


	2. Remy and Roman

_All gave some. Some gave all_. She stared at the stone with the cryptic words. She wondered why they had chosen these words... Well, she had certainly given it all, she thought. She had given her whole life to an off the books cause, thinking it righteous, but it had gotten her nothing in return, only a bucket load of misery. She remembered when they all died. It had come at night, in the form of a dream, but when she woke she knew it was a memory. It had been so vivid and clear. They all died that day, every single one of her comrades and she herself too, but she miraculously had come back from it. She was the only one left now. Her taskforce had nothing to remember them by, except this ridiculous stone and her to keep their memory alive. But she couldn't keep them alive anymore. She couldn't remember them. She had forgotten her comrades who had fought with her. Who had given their lives for their country. She should remember them, because now there was nothing left of them except this stone. She felt guilty. She wondered, had they been her friends? Had she cared for them; had she loved them maybe. Who had they been... Good people or bad. Kind or hateful. She hated herself for erasing those memories. Maybe she could ask her bro- a sudden sting in her neck, like a mosquito pricking her, except she knew it wasn't a bug. It was a needle. She suddenly felt her entire body go slack. I'm being drugged, she thought. She lost her footing and felt that someone caught her but before she could think about who it was or why the darkness engulfed her and took her away.

She woke up later with a piercing headache. She blinked several times, trying to focus on her still blurry surroundings. There were small streaks of light coming in through small gaps in the windows, who were covered roughly with newspapers taped to it.

"I'm sorry about the looks, but I didn't have time to go curtain shopping." She looked up to the direction of where the voice came from and saw her brother sitting on a small wooden chair. "Waking up from my little cocktail is rough, I didn't want your head to burst from the light." He gave a nod to the windows. She followed his nod, but had to look away instantly when one streak of light caught her eye and pierced through her head as if lightning struck her. She moaned a little. "Shhh, shh, sister, it will be all right." Roman stood up from his chair, which gave a small squeak when his weight left it. She noticed now she was lying on a bed. He walked up to her and seated himself on the bed. He patted her arm, as in to reassure her. "It will go away in a few hours. It's like a bad hangover."  
"Why?" she asked, her voice breaking, it was barely a whisper. He stood up again and walked to the sink, filled a plastic cup with water and brought it back to her. She wanted to take the cup from him but couldn't. Her arms were bound to the bed. She looked up to him in shock – and also a little fear – her face a big question mark. "Just a precaution. You're safe. Here, drink." He held to cup to her mouth. She wanted to refuse, but she was so thirsty so she took a few sips soothing her try throat. When she was done he put the cup away. "Where am I?" she asked, being able to speak a little normally again.

"One of our saferooms. We have rooms like these all over the city. They aren't much, but they are safe."

"Why did you bring me here?"

"To keep you safe... That's the point of a saferoom Remy."

"To keep me safe from what?"

"Harm."

"What harm?"

"..."

"What harm, Roman? Tell me."

"The FBI."

"But... What? Why?" 

"I don't like you being in there. It's not safe enough. It needs to stop."

"You did this on your own didn't you?"

"Yes..." Guilt crept over his face.

"Sheppard doesn't know..."

"No, she doesn't." He sighed. "I'm sorry, but she wouldn't listen to me. They wouldn't let me go to you and guard you. I couldn't... I couldn't let you be in danger. I had no choice."

Jane closed her eyes. Great, she thought. As if her life wasn't hard enough without a protective brother. Think Jane, how are you getting out of this? "Roman... Please untie me. This is ridiculous."

"I... Can't. You'll go back to the FBI."

"It's my mission Roman, I need to go back..." She wanted to touch him, his hand, arm or shoulder, something at least, to comfort him, but her bounds were looped tight around her arms. "Roman please, they hurt. Please untie me. I won't leave." He looked at her and saw the doubt. She could see he didn't trust her. For some reason it hurt to see his look of doubt, but on the other hand, how could he trust her. She was not his Remy anymore. She shook her head, thinking. Would Remy beg? Probably not. She inhaled sharply. "Roman, untie me now," she hissed, her throat aching with the force of her voice. He smiled at her and took his knife from his pocket.

"You won't leave?"

"I won't," she said and he cut the rope. She jerked up so suddenly, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed, Roman jumped up from it, ready to defend himself if she attacked him. She smiled and rubbed her wrists. She had marks on them from the rope. It hurt, but in comparison with the pain she had endured during her torture it was nothing and she let go of her wrists.

"Sit down Roman, I promised I would stay, didn't I." Once again he smiled and sat next to her on the bed. "So what now?" she asked him. He shrugged.

"I don't know."

"You know I can't stay here."

"I know... I was foolish."

"Yes, you were." But she smiled back. Even if he was a criminal, he cared for her deeply and it was the first time in months that she felt wanted and loved. Despite herself it warmed her and it made her feel better. But then she saw his gun lying on the table. The gun that had killed innocent cops and her heart grew cold again. He noticed something was wrong.

"What is it?" he asked and glanced to the gun.

"It's nothing," she said. "Nothing... Just... Did I kill innocent people, when I was... Remy?"  
He was quit for a moment but then answered.

"Only if it was necessary for the mission." She had expected that answer, she had always known deep down that she had, but it still knocked the wind out of her. The conformation that she had killed innocent people was not information she took lightly. Once again Remy saw something was wrong. He must have known her well. Of course he did, she thought. He was her brother.

"Do you have difficulty with that now?" He asked. "Killing people." She nodded. She hadn't wanted to tell him that, but she knew he could read her face. He already had known by her reaction she had been appalled.

"I... Yes, I... Would like to refrain from killing innocent people now. I don't think I can."

"You probably have too, though," he said matter of factly. "If you want to finish the mission."

"I hardly know what the mission is."

"Be patient Remy."

"Oscar told me to be patient too... It didn't end well."

"Then stay."  
"Where?"

"Here, I mean. "You don't have to go back. You don't have to be Sheppards pawn. We can run... Together." She was moved by it and reached for his face. She stroked the stubble on his cheek, like she had done once to Kurt, when he asked if she remembered him.

"You know I can't."

"I know... But it's a nice dream to have." She smiled.

"It is." And she was filled with warmth once again. This was a very confusing day, she thought. She stood up, to go. She had to get back to her apartment, knowing it was monitored and if she didn't return the FBI would start wondering where she was. Roman grabbed her wrist though. She looked over her shoulder towards him.

"At least stay tonight."

"You know I can't," she repeated once again. She shook her wrist out of her grip, turned around and kissed him on the top of her head without thinking about it. She had done that before, she remembered. Then she turned around and walked out of the room.

Would she tell the team of today, she wondered when walking home. She knew she should. She shouldn't keep anything from them this time around... But it didn't feel right. They hated her, they didn't trust her and she thought they wouldn't ever do so again. Why should she tell this, something that had no consequence or influence over their mission, but had been great comfort to her. Someone cared for her. She realised how twisted her situation was. Someone cared for her yes, but he was a murderer and in league with a big criminal organisation. She shouldn't betray the team again, and tell them all, even if she thought it was of no consequence... She grimaced. Maybe she should have let herself die that day. It would have been easier.

She opened the door of her apartment block. When she closed the door she saw a man across the road talk in his com, that she arrived 'home.' She sighed when she walked up the stairs to her 'home'. Fine, she thought. She would tell them. 


	3. The Codex

A/N: This one took a bit, because I had to work out a case, since I wanted to have a real case instead off something like "they went on their case" and never elaborating on it. Blindspot is all about the tattoo cases, so I thought my story needed one, but my goodness, it was hard to create one. I rewrote it multiple times and I still think it's not great. Kudos to the writers who come up with these cases in the series. Also, I don't know how to react on a review, but yes, this of course will be multiple chapters and I will try to post a chapter every day/every two days till it's end. However, I'm Dutch so my timezone is different than most of you, so it might look like my updating times are weird... But yeah, timezones. Also, is it Remy or Remi, what do you guys think? Both are used in reviews and fanfics.

It was 7:30 in the morning. No one else was in yet, except for a few guards and some people who had worked through the night, now packing up their stuff and leaving. The team normally arrived around 8:00 but Jane hadn't been able to sleep well, plagued by nightmares of the torture she had undergone at the CIA black site. After she dreamed she drowned again she had to get out of the house and had left early. She sipped the tea she had picked up on the way to work, liking the taste of it. Then she stiffened and stood up from her chair. Oscar had shown her she had liked this tea. She didn't want to remember him now. She emptied the plastic cup in the sink and threw it in the trash. She could go get coffee at the coffee place around the corner, she thought. There was still time. Why not. It would occupy her for a bit. She needed to kill time till eight anyway. She walked towards the elevator to go down, pressed the button and waited. It opened and Kurt Weller stood in front of her. She had started to walk in, but halted when she saw him, her heart skipping a beat. He looked at her with some surprise, looked at his watch and back to her. She evaded his stare by looking towards the ground, for some reason unable to meet his eyes head on. She didn't want him to see her hurt in her eyes. He walked out and she walked in. When the door closed the noticed she had hold her breath the entire time and let it out.

Twenty minutes later she walked back in with a big steaming cup of coffee and a bagel. She saw that everyone of their team had arrived already. Weller was in his office, with the woman from the NSA, having a heated discussion. She caught Jane looking at them, stopped talking and walked out towards the team, beckoning Jane to come over. She had no choice but to comply and chose to stand next to Patterson. At least she hadn't given her a look yet that could have killed her if looks could do such a thing. Patterson had uncovered another tattoo. She put up a picture on the big screens. It was a picture of a row of random looking letters with spacing in between forming a circle; _didudk pmld mk qrsrdix qrddlq amtp vefrd empqdq_ it said. The formed circle had straight lines running through it, with the same spacing in between. It had four squares evenly divided over the line of the circle. The circle also had a smaller circle in the middle, that was colored in with grey.

"It's on Jane's inner thigh," Patterson started explaining. "The circle is not a random circle, it's a shield from Anglo-Saxon times. The straight lines are wooden panels stuck together, the squares on the sides are fittings and the small circle in the middle is a round piece of iron at the centre of a shield called _boss._

"Anglo-Saxons were people who inhabited Great-Britain in the 5th and 11th century. They are warriors. I couldn't decode the letters without a key, but it's so simple that I don't know why I didn't find it before. I didn't recognize the shield because it's such a crude drawing of it, but I was sorting my board games last night and one of them is a history game between different warriors from Great Britain and-" She stopped when she saw the impatient look of the others. "Yes, ok, to the point then. "In Old-English, their language, a shield was called _scyld_ and that was the keyword I needed. It's a simple cipher really, but without a keyword there wasn't much I could do, but with _scyld_ I could translate the letters into words." She tapped on the screen, showing a sentence; _eleven rode on stately steeds four white horses_

"What does it mean?" Jane asked.

"It's a riddle, a known riddle," Patterson answered. "Well, one sentence of a very long riddle. It's from the Codex Exoniensis, a tenth century codex book with Anglo-Saxon poetry. It holds hundreds of riddles. This riddle answer is New Years.

"What do four horses have to do with New Years?" Zapata asked, furrowing her brow. Jane wondered too, she couldn't really find the connection.

"The riddle is about how eleven men ride on their horses from one shore to the other, through a stream, which is difficult to cross, but they manage it in the end. The shore they are leaving is the old year and the shore they arrive upon, safe, is the new year."

"So... The riddle is already solved for us then," Zapata said.

"The riddle's answer is the riddle," Patterson said, grimacing.

"I hate riddles," Zapata sighed.  
"New years," Reade said. "It's autumn right now, we're not that close to the new year yet."

"No, we're not..." Nas asked.

"Where's the book now?" Jane asked.

"In a church in South West England. But there are copies in every library... Well every self-respecting library," Patterson added snarky.

"The book might be only there, in the tattoo, to provide the answer to the riddle, but not have anything to do with the case," Weller said, finally chiming in.

"I don't think so," Jane contradicted him. "By now everything in my tattoos have had significance. The symbols always held meaning to the case."

"But what does and old codex and New Year have in common with each other? I can't see a connection," Zapata thought out loud.

"What can you tell us more about the book?" Weller asked Paterson.

"Ehm, well, it has a very rich history. To sift through all of it, that's a bit much. But, ehm, in bullet points, the writer of the book is unknown as is the date of its making. It's believed to have had 131 leaves but the first 8 leaves are missing, which is-

"What are leaves?" Zapata wondered out loud.

"Pages we're made from animal skin and the pages that you could take out from one piece of dried skin were grouped together as leaves and so a book was divided by leaves instead of chapters," Patterson explained, which apparently reminded her of something, because she suddenly became very excited. "Animal skin! The Anglo-Saxon pagans celebrated Modranith, which translates to Mother Night. They celebrated it at the end of December and sacrificed a boar to the Gods. They wore the skin of the sacrificed animal in combat, believing it would give them strength. The pagan festival later became known as our New Year!" She was almost clapping out of excitement. The team didn't follow her excitement.

"And that helps us how exactly, we still don't know anything about the case," Weller remarked.

"Well..." Patterson was fast with her keyboard and had brought op a website of an organisation called The Society of Paganism. "They celebrate multiple Anglo-Saxon festivals throughout the year, their main goal is wanting to keep paganism and its heritage and history alive. However, this society has been described as a cult by multiple of its ex-members, claiming that it has a cult like organisation and that it's difficult to get away from. They oppose the Christian church strongly, since they stole the Pagan festivals, like the festival of sacrifice to their god Eostre, celebrating spring and new life, which later became the Christian celebration of Easter. They believe in their own Gods and declare the God of Christians, Muslims, Jews etc, a false one. They believe it was created by an institution to keep the masses under control with fiction, or so they say on their website." The computer had sifted through the Society's members, running a program that looked through the encrypted website member database. "The Society has 253 registered members now," Patterson said when the program was done. "This," a photo appeared on the screen, "is Ben Johnson. The son of the founder of the Society. His Father died four years ago and after that the Society appeared in the news more often, with accusations ranging from violence, abuse, sexual abuse, fraud and such, but nothing really sticks, since none of its members talk and its ex-members hardly dare to speak out."

"I think we found our case," Weller said. "Patterson, find out what the latest allegations involving the Society are and where Johnson is. We would like to have a talk to him about those allegations and see what comes from it."

While walking to her locker Jane wondered what the case could specifically be about. There had been tons of allegations towards the Society in the last few years. It would be difficult to talk to Johnson about the pretense of those allegations, while trying to figure out what aspect of it the tattoo was pointing them towards. Was it a covered sexual assault or tax fraud including government officials? Since most of her tattoos had been about corruption, this one probably would too. It made more sense if it would.

While loading her gun she suddenly remembered that she still had to tell the team about yesterday evening. In all the commotion she had forgotten to mention it. She let out a grunt. She didn't feel like doing that at all. But she should and it was better to do it right away, otherwise they would think she was withholding something it on purpose, if she mentioned it later. The team had already disbanded, waiting for Patterson to bring them information about where Johnson was. She didn't feel like calling them back in to tell them about her strange encounter yesterday. It felt a little personal and intimate. It was better this way, sharing it with only one and not the entire team. Should she go to Weller then? She shook her head. No, not Weller. Nas, she decided. She didn't want to see Weller if she could avoid it.

Nas wasn't in her office so Jane walked through the corridors, looking for her, but she was nowhere to be found. She didn't have much time before they moved out. Patterson would have Johnsons location soon enough. No choice about it then. A minute later she knocked on Wellers door. He was in his office going through some papers. He looked up. "Come in," he said and looked back to his papers. He didn't sound very inviting. Jane was hesitant, but eventually stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

"I.. Need to tell you something."

He looked up again, with more interest this time. He left his papers and sat down. "What is it?"

"I eh... I.. Can I sit?" It was a weird question. Of course she could sit. He nodded to indicate that she could indeed do so. Why was she suddenly so nervous around him. No, not nervous, but on edge. Her heart rate went up and adrenaline shot through her body. Weller made her go into a fight or flight mode as if she expected him to attack her any moment because of her betrayal. She knew full well he wouldn't, but that didn't stop her unconscious from reacting to his anger towards her. He said he didn't hate her, but he did make her feel like he did. She looked towards the ground again, as if she was a schoolgirl in the principal's office, scared. She did feel like that. Stop it, she said to herself. Stop being so vulnerable. She forced herself to look up and swallowed.  
"Yesterday I went to the monument Sheppard and my brot- Roman showed me and-"

"Why?"

"I.." She hadn't expected that question. "I wanted to mourn my comrades, I guess. It infuriates me that I can't remember them. I felt that I owed them to mourn them there, at least once, now that I knew of them again." Weller didn't say anything for a while, as if he was thinking about something, but he didn't say it, he only asked her what happened next. "Roman was there. He injected me with something and when I woke up I was tied to a bed and he-"

"Did he hurt you?" Weller asked, interrupting her again. Once again Jane hadn't expected that.

"No," she said and when she did she saw some of his tension leaving his body. Only then she realized how it must have sounded, her being kidnapped and tied to a bed. She swallowed the lump in her throat away "No, he didn't. He wanted to keep me save. He tied me up because he wasn't sure if I would be happy with it or not."

"I assume you weren't."

"No, not really." She didn't dare to mention that her brother drugging her and tying her up had made her feel cared for, but she knew how crazy it sounded. Hell, she even found it crazy. "He was acting on his own. He didn't want me to go back to the FBI. He cared more for me than for the mission..." Once again she had a lump in her throat, choking up. She blinked, trying to keep her tears at bay. She didn't want him to see her so vulnerable, so broken, so desperate for an inkling of love. She got a grip of herself and coughed, covering the lump in her throat. "I convinced him though, to let me go. He did."

"That was it?"

"Yes, that was it," Jane answered agitated, realizing that her struggle to tell them this or not, had been about something that wasn't of much interest to the team. There wasn't anything useful in the information. It had all been about being honest this time around and it had cost her a lot to tell them this, but he took it like it was nothing, thanked her and went back to going through his papers. She stood up and walked away. But then a notion struck her and she turned around, now standing in the opening of the door. "Weller," she said and he looked up again, "What if we can turn Roman to our side?"

The three of them now stood in Wellers office. Weller, Nas and Jane. Patterson had found Johnsons location, but Weller had told his team to stand by for a minute while he called Nas on her personal cell to his office. "It's crazy," Weller said. "We can't bring in another one of Sandstorm members."

"No one said about bringing him in, but Jane can work on him. If he cares for her, as deeply as she says he does, why wouldn't he. He doesn't seem to hold much interest for the mission. She is more important. If we can get him to our side, we have access to a lot of information, that Jane doesn't have because of her memory wipe."

"It's risky. What is she can't convince him, but she has made it a little to clear to him that she's on our side, he can blow the whistle on her."

"I don't think he will do that," Jane said.

"You don't know him Jane," Weller answered.

"I know he is my brother and if there is chance of saving him from Sandstorm, I want to try."

"No... No. There are too many risks."

"Weller, think for a second," Nas argued. "If we get Roman to our side, this mission will be a fraction time-wise of what it normally would be. Meaning that Jane doesn't have stay undercover very long. She doesn't need to go in very deep to gather intel. Roman will have all the intel already. We could wrap this whole operation up quickly. It's worth the risk."

"Nas-" He wanted to argue back, but the look on Jane's face made him shut his mouth instantly. There was so much pain there, so much anguish. He hated seeing it in her.

"Kurt," Jane said, using his first name. "He's all that I have left now..." A punch in the gut. "If I can pull him out, I want to try."


End file.
